


A Funeral of Flowers

by MxMearcstapa



Series: FE3H Whump Week 2020 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bittersweet, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FE3H Whump Week, Final Thoughts, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Church Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Church Route Spoilers, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Lady Rhea - Freeform, Loss, Other, Reflection, Rhea - Freeform, Silver Snow Route, Silver Snow spoilers, Unreliable Narrator, Whump, no beta we die like Glenn, painful transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 10:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxMearcstapa/pseuds/MxMearcstapa
Summary: Fighting, Rhea was used to. Impossible odds, she was used to. Sacrifice was a synonym for survival—her enemy knew that as well as she did. “Let there be light,” he said. For his people, he would destroy himself alongside his foes.Two could play at that game.In which Rhea reflects on the choices she's made regarding a certain professor.For FE3H Whump Week. Spoilers for Silver Snow route.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Rhea, My Unit | Byleth & Rhea, Rhea & Sothis (Fire Emblem)
Series: FE3H Whump Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031775
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	A Funeral of Flowers

It had been worth it, in the end.

So Rhea told herself, over and over, as she struggled to remain in this world, body writhing in pain, her own blood boiling within her. Like a candle on a windy eve, she flickered, but she would not let go. Not yet. Not yet. There were still a few things left to attend.

Byleth.

Sweet child. Dear heart.

Byleth had been unlike the others in every way. Byleth had not been made, _constructed_ _,_ as the others had been, of star stuff and forbidden magics. Byleth had been _born,_ flesh and blood interwoven with magic and cosmos into something luminary that could only exist with a divine underpinning.

Byleth had somehow simultaneously been the greatest success and the most dramatic failure by far. No matter how Rhea treated the soil, the goddess simply would not take root. Even when all the auspices were plain to see—the results did not follow through.

No Mother.

Only Byleth, always Byleth.

It was only a matter of time, Rhea told herself. It was always only a matter of time, and time, she had in abundance.

So she waited. She bided. She guided and smiled. She provided one opportunity after the next, and Byleth smashed through every challenge like a shooting star.

All but the one that mattered.

When that sweet child sat on the throne and _nothing happened,_ Rhea almost threw herself at the foot of the dais and wept. The signs had all been clear and strong as the light from the Blue Sea Star. Rhea had done everything within her power and even some things without, and still she was met with _nothing_ _._

It wasn’t _fair._

And then everything went to hell.

The Hresvelg girl betrayed a millennium of history, of unity, with such audacity that Rhea felt the fury down to her bones. All the work, all the war, the blood and muscle and sinew and gristle that had been shed in the name of peace stolen as carelessly as Edelgard stole the hearts of Rhea’s brothers and sisters. But somehow _still_ _,_ when the girl’s classmates, when her teacher—no, the _goddess_ _—_ stood against her with righteous sorrow and indignation in their eyes, something in Rhea’s heart snapped sharply.

The pain of that loneliness was a look she knew acutely.

Her sympathy was short-lived, the break in her heart reforged in the fire of her rage. This was further proof yet that the goddess was needed to rectify this wayward land. Such transgressions were unforgivable, and the Holy Tomb was not the last of them.

So Rhea took to the field in defense of her home once more. For Seteth and Flayn. For those who had taken refuge behind the monastery walls. For her mother. For Byleth.

And when it seemed like the tides were turning against them, Rhea called upon one of her mother’s gifts and changed her form. The transformation was no mean feat—every time she did it, it became a little harder to maintain, a little harder to come back from. She almost _didn’t_ come back from it when Mother—no, Byleth—plummeted into that crevasse and was forever lost. Drowning in grief anew, she lashed at the world around her until her body would no longer follow the commands she gave it. And when the Hresvelg girl came to take her, Rhea let herself be taken. Fighting didn’t matter anymore. _Nothing_ mattered anymore.

Nearly five years, she remained a prisoner. Nearly two thousand days of torment, of torture, of a battery of tests that made her wish she had fought hard enough to die at Garreg Mach. At least then she would have been home. At least then, she might have been with her mother. Instead it was Edelgard, and the vacillation between dread so taut it made her body ache and a numbness so pervasive that she could feel nothing at all.

And then, against all odds, against anything that Rhea had come to expect—she was saved. Lifted by strong, familiar arms.

Byleth.

Sweetest child. Dearest heart.

Come for her, after all she had done. Not her mother, come to right the wrongs that so plagued the world, but the professor, the brave soul that had stood strong in the face of peril, heedless of the risk. Heedless of the truth. Who had grown and learned and lived and laughed under her watchful gaze the same as all those who had borne the goddess’s heart before. Byleth, who had received the goddess’s favor, all her power, and had remained yet the same. Byleth had come to rescue her.

And Byleth deserved answers.

Perhaps, as Seteth said, the world deserved answers, too. This path had been the wrong one to protect her people in the end. Perhaps the truth might fare differently. Perhaps the truth would be better.

First, though, there was an enemy to contend with. Those who slithered in the dark. It didn’t matter how weak she was—Rhea would not be left behind. Not alone. Not again. Not when they were finally confronting such an ancient and abhorred enemy.

Fighting, Rhea was used to. Impossible odds, she was used to. Sacrifice was a synonym for survival—her enemy knew that as well as she did. “Let there be light,” he said. For his people, he would destroy himself alongside his foes.

Two could play at that game.

To rush into the javelins of light required no second thoughts; Rhea moved before she could even think otherwise. Protect Mother. Protect the heart. Protect _Byleth._

Live long enough to explain what the child needed to hear, no matter the cost. So Rhea fought her injuries with everything left in her. She rose on legs bruised and unsteady. She waited.

Byleth came.

Rhea told all she knew.

The look on Byleth’s face cleaved her heart in two, but it was a worthy action, it _had_ to be, for it was all she could give now. It didn’t matter if the child never looked at her again, because telling Byleth had been the right thing to do.

The cost of the truth was steep indeed. She was still speaking despite the fact that Byleth had frozen, awash with terror. Rhea could not stop the words pouring out of her. She had asked so much of Byleth and it was still not all she could ask. Save Fódlan, please, save what was left—

Rhea’s third transformation in the last several centuries was like to be her final one. There was no coming back from this. Not when she could not even will herself to cease. It was as though she were trapped within herself, her screams only eking out as whispers.

_Stop. Please stop. Please stop._

The distant sounds of voices. Catherine. Cyril. Cethleann. Cichol. The anguish. The _pain._

_Rest in peace by Sothis’s side,_ she thought she heard someone say.

Yes. Yes, she could do that.

She flew off, looking for somewhere out of reach to meet her end. Where her loved ones did not have to watch. With a cry, she crashed to the floor of the cathedral. Was it far enough away? She hoped. All she had left was hope.

It was blessedly still.

She could feel the magic of her form fading. Good. Let her pass as she had been born, the form her mother had loved most.

What was it Mother had called her?

_Seiros._

She was floating, or falling, or both, or neither.

The warmth of arms around her drew her focus.

_Mother._

Her mother was here, at last, at long, long last. Byleth would guide Fódlan, and her mother would bring her to rest by her side. The path had been fraught with missteps. But here, in her mother’s arms, with the light of the sun reaching down and flower petals settling to the earth, she knew.

It had been worth it, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I think about Rhea, and I have a lot of feelings. Thank you for reading! <3 If you liked this piece, please leave a comment! It makes my day. <3


End file.
